


Revelations of a Lonely Man

by journeycat



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Banter, Gen, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 06:21:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4776839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/journeycat/pseuds/journeycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes one considers family the people to whom he's born, or sometimes it's his wife and children; for Raoul, family is the people who chose him to be theirs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revelations of a Lonely Man

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Advent Calendar at Goldenlake in December 2009. Won an honorable mention in the Piercefic Competition (Tortall) at Goldenlake in October 2010.

The night was pitch-black and colder than death. Raoul’s breath came out in swirling puffs of steam as he rubbed his gloved hands furiously together. It was nearing midnight and the temperature was dropping five degrees every half bell. _Nothing like spending midwinter standing sentry in the middle of nowhere_ , he thought. He was almost beginning to think suffering through one of Thayet’s midwinter balls was better than this. Almost.

“It’s cold as Scanran balls out here,” Dom said between shivers. He was a mere shadow in his black cloak a couple yards to Raoul’s right. “Lerant and Nadric better hurry up. Another minute and I’ll be an ice statue.”

“You’d make a beautiful ice statue.”

“Thank you, milord. It means a lot to me.”

Raoul chuckled, and though he could not see outside his meager circle of torchlight, he knew Dom was grinning.

“You have an impertinent tongue,” he told him fondly.

“It runs in the family,” Dom said. “And you’re hardly one to talk, milord. Last time I checked, you were a bad man.”

Raoul’s teeth flashed white in the dark.

“Sergeant, milord, we’re sorry we’re late,” a voice ventured. “We’re here to relieve you now.”

“About time, Nadric,” Dom said. “What took so long? Curling your lashes? Painting your face?”

“Take it up with prissbones here,” Nadric snapped. “Took me forever to wake him up from his dream. Lady Doanna, it’s time for bed. Oh Lady Doanna, you’re so soft. Lady Doanna, my love, let me stroke your luscious—”

“Shut up! That’s not what I said!”

“Lerant,” Raoul said with a barely-disguised laugh, “are you saying you _were_ dreaming about Lady Doanna?”

“Believe me,” Lerant said grumpily, “it wasn’t on purpose. You should get to bed, milord. We have to start out early.”

“Kiss-ass,” Nadric muttered under his breath.

“Thank you, Lerant,” Raoul said, pretending he hadn't heard Nadric's comment. “I’ll see you boys in the morning. Come on, Domitan.”

“I hate that name,” Dom said. “Only my least favorite aunt calls me that.”

The two men started back toward their tents, slow going in the heavy three-feet-high snow. It was comfortably silent for a couple minutes.

“Don’t you wish you were back there?” Raoul asked suddenly.

Dom gave him a quizzical look. “Back where?”

“Masbolle.”

“Ah.” He stretched his arms above his head, his face thoughtful. “Mother usually herds us all to Queenscove—she and Uncle Baird are still close, you see. Most of my midwinters have been spent surrounded by brothers and sisters and cousins. So I guess I kind of miss them.”

“It’s a hard life, I suppose,” Raoul sighed, feeling old. “It’s a good thing none of you have wives and children. You’d never see them.”

“It’s not your fault, milord. The Own gets to spend enough midwinters with our families that we can hardly complain. And we have big families, Goddess knows. It’s why most of us are here. But you, milord...Goldenlake isn’t that big, and you haven’t married Bu—anyone yet. Don’t you get...”

Raoul slanted a look at him. “Get what? Lonely?”

Dom looked embarrassed. “I never said that.”

“You were going to.”

“You can't prove it.”

“It’s all right. I’m a bachelor; most of my time is spent alone or with various ladies of my choice. If I were miserable, I would’ve found me a nice, warm woman by now, wouldn’t you think?”

“Of course, milord,” Dom said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

Raoul wasn’t even sure if he himself was convinced. Malorie’s Peak was a gift from Jonathan—no family there. And Goldenlake had few ties with other fiefs and a small family: his father, too deep into his cups to remember his own name most of the time, his feeble-minded mother, too confused to remember _anyone’s_ name most of the time, and then his brother, who couldn’t stand up to his shrew of a wife to save his life and would have little to do with Raoul, a progressive man and king’s favorite.

It wasn’t like Masbolle and Queenscove, or Hollyrose and King’s Reach, or Mindelan with Seabeth and Seajen or Fenrigh with Nond. Goldenlake stood alone.

“But then again,” Dom continued, his grin restored, “who needs family when you have us?”

“You?” Raoul said. “You boys are just thorns in my side that won’t shake loose.”

“But when it comes down to it, would you really want to shake us loose? I mean, without us you wouldn’t be half as handsome—”

“You must tell me where you learned to lie so well, you cur. Now get to bed. You said it yourself, we have to get up early.”

Dom saluted and ducked inside his tent, leaving Raoul to navigate his tent alone.

“Milord,” a man behind him called, “do you know there’s a hole in your trousers?”

“Ho, Jereden, why’re you looking?” another said.

“Come on, boys,” Raoul said, grinning as he walked backwards to face them. “Since when have any of you been able to resist looking at me?”

“It’s true, I can’t resist looking at a man who faints off his horse—”

“—or at a wedding—”

“—or when that one man retired from the army—”

“Why can’t we ever remember his name?”

“That’s enough!” Sergeant Osbern roared from inside his tent. “You’ll all pay for this ruckus tomorrow. And milord, that means you, too!”

 _Oh, fiddle_ , Raoul thought, slumping. _I hope he doesn’t make me run laps around camp again_. He glumly opened his tent flap, stepped in, and began, “Kel—”

He snapped his mouth closed with a click, eyeing her sleeping form affectionately. Maps were spread all over the table, covered in notes in her neat penmanship, while she was hunched over with her head cradled in her arms, snoring softly. He sighed and gently scooped her up in his arms. She was dead weight, a testament to her admirable strength.

He laid her down in her nest of blankets. Her ugly mutt half-heartedly thumped his tail and whuffed quietly as he unlaced and removed her boots.

She mumbled, “Cleon, not now.”

He shuddered, and was relieved when she said no more.

And he realized that, just maybe, this wasn’t such a lonely midwinter after all.

 _Family isn’t just who you're born to_ , Raoul thought, gently pulling the blanket up to Kel’s chin. He smoothed the stray hairs from her peaceful face. _It’s who you grow with, and who you'd die for_.


End file.
